Those Who Protect (Have The Most to Fight For)
by DraconicLight
Summary: Merlin one-shots! For now, here's a little bit of BAMF!Merlin because I'm feeling deprived. Rated T for a smidge of violence and a slightly cranky warlock. Most likely one-shots. Not Slash (Unless you squint very, very hard. No seriously, you would need an electron microscope to see slash here.) Feel free to suggest ideas!
1. A Downed Merlin (Is Not A Dead One)

A little Bamf!Merlin today, because I'm bored and stressed!

First Merlin fic, also an experiment to see whether I still have the writing spark after not having time or inspiration for _months!_

Anyways, hope you enjoy, see you after the show!

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Merlin.

* * *

It was definitely not the first time Merlin had been tied up. It was also not the first time that the Crown Prat of Camelot had gone and gotten captured by bandits.

Of which he had done so. (Again.)

It was, however, the first time that they had really bothered to consider that Merlin may have been just a tad bit dangerous. It was kind of flattering, although the warlock was a little bit worried that one of them may have seen him use magic.

It might explain the chains, shackles and vomit-worthy (likely a pair of used socks) gag, which was considerably more than the length of rope that they'd tied Arthur up in.

Sighing, he observed the clotpole, who was unconscious and drooling on the other side of the clearing.

Blood, which had long since dried, trailed down the side of his head from a small wound above the ear. That worried the warlock, but not overly much (Arthur had dealt with worse) and he decided that besides not being awake (probably for the best, if Merlin was to get them both out of there, and he would) Arthur would live.

Satisfied, he discretely looked around the rest of the camp.

There were two guards at the entrance of a large tent, one of them dozing, the other carving something from a block of wood. Merlin assumed that they were guarding the leader's tent. A fire crackled off somewhere to Merlin's left.

There weren't any other bandits in sight.

He shifted a bit, the guard glared at him, Merlin glared back. The guard mimed slicing a throat and pointed towards Arthur.

If looks could kill, the guard would be a pile of ash.

Well, _his_ looks could, but Merlin decided against it.

Preparing his magic, Merlin was never gladder that he didn't need to speak for most spells.

And _by the Goddess!_ Was that gag ever foul! His eyes were watering from the stench, never mind the taste.

With a flash of golden eyes, the awake guard slumped over, asleep. The other guard snored louder.

Smirking, Merlin loosened the chains, stood up and stepped out of them. Bringing his shackled wrists to his face, he ripped the gag out of his mouth.

Bloody hell! They _are_ used socks! Merlin incinerated them. The ashes blew away into the wind, like falling snow.

"Having fun?" an oily voice drawled. Merlin started and turned to face who had spoken. An average sized man stood in the doorway of one of the tents. His hair was dark, eyes dark green, his face clean-shaven, and he looked slim but had a fair bit of strength in his upper body.

He was also a sorcerer.

Well, it was fairly obvious really, with the glowing magic runes patterning his forearms. Merlin recognised them, they increased the power of certain spells, most commonly the ones used to attack.

Not that they made him any match for the most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth. Grinning inwardly, he raised an eyebrow in a close approximation of Gaius'.

"Not really, I'm afraid your hospitality leaves something to be desired," Merlin quipped, staring at the sorcerer with an expression of disdain. The dark green eyes flashed with irritation.

"Do shut up, I really do not appreciate being mocked by some _servant_ with a few party tricks up his sleeve. Now, if you would be so kind as to inform me why there is a magic-user in the employment of the son of the King of Camelot?" he said, words positively dripping with condescension. Merlin prickled at the tone.

"As if I would tell you, and party tricks? Really? Didn't anybody ever tell you not to underestimate your opponents?" Merlin asked, eyes flashing with the briefest glimpse of gold. The sorcerer frowned and tensed, but relaxed when the warlock's eyes reverted to their usual blue.

"I expect there is little to underestimate in your case," he sniffed, flapping his hand dismissively, "and honestly, I doubt you would make a worthy opponent for the great Akar? I am probably the most powerful magic-user alive, besides the High Priestess Nimueh, you're a pitiful little boy with a death wish."

Merlin nearly choked a bit when… Akar? ...Mentioned Nimueh, but kept his face impassive as the last few dregs of terror brought by her name morphed into bemusement. Just how out of touch was this guy? And most powerful magic-user alive? Hah! The warlock snickered.

"I think you might want to do a quick fact check, Nimueh's been dead for a while buddy, and I'm afraid the title of 'most powerful magic-user alive' belongs to Emrys. Now run along before I have to hurt you," Merlin waved his hand in a 'shoo' motion and settled back on his heels, head tilted and eyes glittering. The sorcerer narrowed his eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous, Emrys doesn't exist. If he did, magic would've already been restored to the land," Akar declared, "although I would like to know why you seem to think the High Priestess is dead. The only one who'll be declared dead will be your precious prince," he gave a mocking look to Merlin, looking down his nose as much as he could at the taller man, who huffed and stood even taller, eyes hardening ever so slightly.

"Because I killed her," Merlin smiled without humour or happiness, ignoring the remark about dead sovereigns, "which is what will happen to you if you don't let Arthur and I go." The warlock's eyes glinted dangerously and Akar felt something shift in the back of his mind, a bit of awe and a whole lot of ' _please_ _do what he says and get the hell out of there!'_ He shoved it to the side, unsettled.

"I don't think so, you should follow your own advice _boy_ because even if you did manage to kill someone as strong as Nimueh, it was probably by accident. Not that you did," he spat, getting annoyed by the lack of respect from the insolent servant and unsettled by the growing sense of alarm and dread. Merlin shot an unimpressed look at the sorcerer, rolling his eyes.

"I'd say that it was pretty intentional, given how it happened. Lightning doesn't just strike angry sorceresses by accident you know," Merlin said nonchalantly, letting a few trickles of magic manifest outwardly. Gold shone from his iris like sunlight through storm clouds, his skin started to glow.

The sorcerers eyes widened and he sucked in a sharp breath, fear seeping into his expression. He took half a step back before composing himself, swallowing visibly. The warlock let some more magic through. The air became thick with energy.

"Now, I'll ask you once more, and only once more, let us go," Merlin said, tone unyielding and cold. Akar trembled, though he hid it well.

"N-no!" he yelled, voice shaking through a determined front. A moment later, he knew he had made the wrong decision. The warlock let molten gold flood his eyes, face emotionless except for an empty smile. The wind picked up slightly, although it never touched the dozing royal. The forest seemed to whisper with excited murmurs. The birds went quiet.

Storm clouds covered the sky above, billowing and undulating, crackling with electricity and power. Cutting wind and rain which seemed both hot and cold at once swirled in the air, coating parts of the clearing with frost and others with flickering flames.

The air around the Crown Prince glowed softly, twinkling stars emitting a calm and peaceful aura. He remained undisturbed in his slumber.

The very earth itself seemed to smooth itself around the figure standing in the middle of it all, who was wreathed in blinding, crackling light, and whose eyes shone with enough power to fell an army, a castle, a mountain, even _a kingdom._

Akar knew who this was, for only one person could ever have this much power at his command and not explode from the sheer magnitude of what they held within themselves.

Magic incarnate, they say. Akar could not doubt those words, not as the sheer dread and stunned terror consumed him. His mouth fell open, but he was speechless. His eyes watered and taking in breath grew difficult for the sorcerer as the potent power emanating for the figure grew thick in the air. He forced a few words out from his lips, voice shaking with fear.

"Y-you're him, you're Emrys… w-why do you p-protect a m-man who burns t-those like us?" Akar stuttered, although he knew in that moment that the man standing before him, serene and yet drenched in power the likes of which only gods wielded, was nothing like him, or anyone for that matter. He was magic in the form of a man born of destiny and necessity.

A man with the power to save, heal, build but also to destroy and kill. Of such compassion, that makes him so kind but at the same time so _dangerous_.

A man with the power to protect, which makes him stronger than any of the power-hungry maniacs that came before him.

A man who smiled fondly at the question, but also exasperatedly, as though he had been asked this question a thousand times before, and will give the same answer he had replied with _every single damn time_.

"He is my destiny, he is who will unite the lands of Albion and bring a Golden era to the people living in fear and pain," the warlock said, a single note of hope in the words, ringing out over a hundred harmonious emotions, each a variation of pure _happiness_ , _peace and love_.

"He is the Once and Future King, who I am sworn to protect and serve until my death," the words were a promise, one filled with determination and loyalty, "and I will not allow anyone to bring that destiny to ruin."

Then Emrys raised his hand and the fond look disappeared, replaced with the wrath of magic incarnate.

* * *

Akar thought his death would be dark, a swift shadow falling over his eyes before he ceased to be, weary and aged heartbeat ceasing to beat again. Or perhaps flickering flames with his hands bound behind his back, lungs stiff with smoke and a charred black and blistering feet causing unbearable amounts of pain before he fell unconscious and never woke up.

Instead, there was the light of a thousand suns and the sensation of a million red-hot pins pricking his skin at once.

It lasted less than a second and he was gone.

* * *

Merlin sighed sadly as the ashes floated away in the breeze. He closed his eyes as a soft sort of sorrow, tinged with regret, washed over him in a wave. He let a few threads of magic out to repair the damage done to the clearing.

When he opened them, everything was as it was before, minus the sorcerer. The guards slumbered peacefully albeit a bit windswept, and most of the tents were still standing.

Arthur had a small smile on his bruised face, probably from the aftereffects of the blanket of comfort and peace Merlin had wrought around him.

The warlock smiled too, although still feeling perturbed at the loss of life.

Wobbling a little, the servant stepped over to his employer, a little clumsy from the loss of energy. Bending down, he hooked his arms under Arthur's shoulders and whispered a spell to make him lighter.

Whistling to call and calm the spooked horse standing uneasily at the edge, Merlin dragged his prince and gently lifted the injured man onto the saddle, securing him in place as much as he could while leaving Arthur unbound.

Merlin took the reins and began to walk through the forest and back to their campsite, where their equipment still resided.

The warlock didn't notice how the Once and Future Kings eyes had been open just a sliver, watching through the haze of contentment of peace.

He didn't see the fond and exasperated smile spreading across the monarchs face as the rocking motion of the horse lulled him to sleep.

* * *

How was it? Good? Bad? You should tell me, because reviews are nice and make me want to write more things!

Have a great day/night!


	2. A Tired Merlin (Is A Terrifying One)

Well! Apparently, some people like my writing, and would you believe that they even asked for more? Well, I do apologise for the wait, however, I am studying for my Private Pilot's License, a Music Theory Test, a Piano Royal Conservatory Exam and training for the winter ski season. Not that I won't be writing, it just won't be updated very often because I am very, very busy! Think of my updates as the treat that doesn't come very often and you kind of forget about but get a nice feeling of warm, fluffy anticipation when it does come! I'm rambling again, forgive me.

These are one-shots! Meaning that this one has little to no relation to the previous, although if you'd like to piece together some convoluted, confusing storyline, go ahead.

Disclaimer: Who do you think I am? No, I don't own Merlin or anything you may happen to recognise.

* * *

Merlin was trying extremely hard not to fall asleep where he stood, leaning against one of the many stone pillars occupying the enormous room. His eyes watered as he stifled the eighth yawn in fifteen minutes, his face twitched slightly and his back was unnaturally straight despite the awkward angle.

The jug of water slipped a little in his grasp and his the knuckles went white from his efforts to keep it upright. A few drops slipped over the edge and splashed over his boot, making his eye twitch slightly as the liquid soaked into his socks.

In a desperate attempt to keep awake the warlock fixed his eyes on the obnoxiously bright Pendragon banner and listened in on whatever topic the council members were disagreeing upon.

"Absolutely not! That's utterly ridiculous!" An obnoxious lord Merlin didn't care enough about to remember his name shouted indignantly. His voice reminded him of a demented snake, all hissy and screechy. He shuddered at the sound. Deciding the lord needing a name, the warlock opted to call him Lord Hissy. _Or maybe Lord Screechy, either one fit… or perhaps Lord Snaky._ Merlin snorted as he thought of Morgana's solution to half her problems, namely, snakes.

Although he supposed Lord Hissy was easier to remember.

 _By the goddess I need more sleep_ , Merlin thought, marvelling at his thought processes in the throes of exhaustion.

"It is not! It's the perfectly sensible course of action to take, not to mention the one that benefits us most!" Another lord said, huffing in affront. Merlin absentmindedly wondered what they were arguing about before he yawned again and his hearing went a bit fuzzy.

"Ha! That's pure rubbish! The only one benefiting from your idea is you!" Lord Hissy spat, face turning the hue of an overripe tomato. The warlock's eyes widened comically as he held in a laugh. Instead, he held in another yawn, vaguely aware of another servant staring at him in concern.

Bloody assassin sorcerers. Couldn't they leave Arthur alone? Did they not realise how little sleep a secret magical bodyguard manservant got?

Fifth one in the past fortnight too! At this point, Merlin would have even _preferred_ a regular old assassin with a kitchen knife!

It was about at this moment that Merlin first noticed the odd noises from the hallway. He glanced at the council members, slightly more alert and tried to loosen a few of his stiff muscles. None of them had heard anything, which was understandable given that Merlin was the only one not paying any attention to the loud argument. Merlin closed his eyes and listened.

Nothing. It must've been a maidservant dropping her laundry or something equally trivial.

Relaxing again, the warlock crossed his arms and held the water jug in his left hand, nearly spilling more of the cool liquid. His eyes drooped slightly.

 _ **BANG!**_

Then promptly dropped the water jug as the large, ornate wooden doors crashed into either side of the entranceway and revealed a robed figure in bright orange clothing and a neatly trimmed brown beard.

He stood imposingly for a moment before the doors rebounded back from the excessive force used to open them.

The King of Camelot and the Council of Greedy Nobles stared in abject shock as a storm of muffled cursing started up.

The knight's hands went to their swords as they stood up and Arthur drew himself up and plastered a regal, yet bewildered expression onto his face. He swiftly drew his sword and walked to stand with his knights, drawing feeble protests from the stubborn noblemen.

The doors opened again, considerably softer.

In the doorway stood the man, except this time with a bright red streak of blood dripping down his face and a bright red nose. He looked furious.

Merlin snorted quietly.

"I am Edric! I have come for your kingdom, and none shall stand in my way!" the man shouted pompously before he raised a hand. Startled, Merlin rushed out a mental spell to nullify whatever he was about to do.

It almost succeeded.

Instead of the original intention, which was to knock everyone in the room unconscious and immobile, it only managed to knock those standing closest to the door unconscious.

Which of course, had to Arthur and the knights. The ones who could actually defend Camelot without being burned at the stake.

 _Great, way to be a hero you prat._

Fortunately for the warlock, the sorcerer stood there gaping at the failed spell as the council members and servants stampeded for the door. Myron threw up his hands to protect himself as he was knocked sideways, which somehow seemed like a threatening move even as he squeaked.

The fleeing crowd ran faster.

 _Idiots, why would you run towards the maniac?_

Merlin sighed, rubbing his eyes and kicking away the jug before assessing the situation now that the dust had settled.

Unconscious Arthur, sleeping knights, a humiliated sorcerer and the most powerful warlock to ever live.

 _Well, this should be fun._

"Look, Eric? No, Eddy? Yeah, I'm afraid I can't really let you go through with whatever you were planning to do. So if you would be so kind as to please bugger off while the knights aren't awake to stop you," Merlin said, crossing his arms and glaring at the sorcerer with a long-suffering look. Edric had only just realised he wasn't the only conscious person in the room. The intruder's face made an ugly look at the incorrect names.

"It's Edric you fool! And as if you could tell me what to do! I don't listen to servants, now run along before I decide to use you as a hostage," the sorcerer gave Merlin a haughty look. The manservant sighed.

 _I am way too tired to deal with this now._

"Okay, first of all, I'm really in no mood to deal with you wacko sorcerers. I mean honestly, do you think you're original or something? Hah! You're the third one this week, and that _isn't_ counting the poisoned meals I've had to throw out!" Merlin threw up his hands in exasperation, giving a look to the sorcerer that didn't even scratch the surface of the massive pool of irritation and frustration simmering in the depths of his mind.

"You speak as if I care," Myron drawled, "now if you wou-."

"No! I will not! Because I don't have to bloody well listen to you, not now, not _ever!_ By the goddess does anyone besides me actually know who Arthur _is_? This is ridiculous! Do I have to send out letters? Hold a meeting? Is your magical perception such utter rubbish that you can't tell who your true king is?" Merlin vociferated, voice getting higher as his frustration overcame his exhaustion. Myron looked offended.

"Excuse me?" he asked, looking as if he wanted to throw something, preferably a fireball. At Merlin.

"You heard me! Arthur is the bloody _Once and Future King_! Doesn't that count for _anything_ in this messed up society?" Eyes blazing gold for a millisecond, the warlock gave an angry grimace. A row of decorative urns shattered behind them, scattering shards everywhere.

The sorcerer paused, mouth gaping and eyes narrowed. It was silent for a few moments as he processed the passionate words, before giving a small gasp.

"You're Emrys!" He squeaked, before backing away rapidly. Merlin stalked forward threateningly, prepared to blast him back to whatever kingdom he came from.

Not that it was necessary. As soon as the warlock took more than two steps the sorcerer shrieked and stuttered out a teleportation spell. A second later he was gone.

 _Do your damn research before you attempt a hostile takeover, you utter imbecile!_

Merlin sighed in relief, shoulders slumping forwards as his anger drained from him and in turn, the exhaustion flooded back in. The manservant swayed slightly, startling him into motion.

 _Okay, okay… what's next? Let's get this over with quickly before I pass out where I stand._

A quick look with bleary eyes told him that he was the only one awake in the vast hall, which made his decision so much easier. Stumbling over to the column where he had stood before, he slid down to the ground and rested his head back. A soft and relieved breath escaped from his lips as tired eyes shut.

Then he fell asleep.

* * *

Arthur woke up slowly, feeling not at all refreshed from what felt like a very long nap. He felt muddled, sleepy and had a raging headache, probably due to the uncomfortable light blaring through his eyelids and the hard surface at his back. Not to mention he was still wearing his boots. And was that his sword he still had in his grip? Yes, yes it was. Why in the world would he have taken his sword to bed?

It was probably Merlin's fault.

Groaning, Arthur scrabbled and reached for a pillow to throw over his head.

He froze.

This wasn't his bed. The king frowned.

He opened his eyes.

This wasn't even his chambers.

And with that realisation, the memories of recent events came back rushing like a waterfall. They slammed into his head and he choked slightly as they brought worry, panic and a bit of fear with them. His head pounded even more as the hazy fog lifted and his head shot up.

A sorcerer! In the castle! And… and a shout, then black. He must've been knocked unconscious... _left Camelot defenceless_ because if he had succumbed then his knights must've as well. Left to the mercy of the _sorcerer_ … why wasn't he in a cell? Or dead? Or even bound?

With that thought Arthur rolled to his feet, sword held in a defensive stance. He assessed.

"What on earth?" Arthur muttered, narrowing his eyes in puzzlement. His sword arm lowered slightly, not as tense without the threat of immediate danger.

There was nobody in the hall, well, nobody who was awake. The knights were sprawled on the floor in a semicircle around the main doors, and Merlin slumped against the pillar where he had been before the sorcerer had barged in.

Speaking of sorcerers, where was he? Striding over to Merlin, the King kicked him gently with the toe of his boot. _This spell had better not be permanent._

The secret warlock mumbled sleepily and tried to turn onto his side, which only resulted in his torso sliding down the column and onto the floor. Merlin dragged his arm up to cushion his head and settled into the crook of his elbow. After another failed attempt to wake his manservant Arthur narrowed his eyes in annoyance, but let him be.

Because despite everyone close to him believing he was about as observant as a blind boar, he _had_ actually noticed the fatigue that had seemed to plague Merlin these past few weeks. Heck, months even.

Honestly, what did the idiot even have to worry about? It wasn't as though he had the weight of an entire kingdom on his shoulders.

 _So why does it seem, just sometimes, like he carries the fate of something much larger than himself on his back? Why can I sometimes glimpse a moment of weary, yet hopeful sagacity that a young, simple servant, even one with the title of personal manservant to the King of Camelot, should simply not possess? What else don't I know about my truest friend?_

Pushing aside worrying and confusing thoughts, Arthur reached down and slid his arm around Merlin's shoulders, pulling him into a more comfortable position; no sense leaving him to wake up sore.

Sighing, the King went to wake up his knights.

* * *

"-going to be alright?" The words drifted past the haze fogging his mind, sneakily worming their way in to disturb him from his rest.

"Of course, Sire provided he has time to rest," the aged but stern voice of the Court Physician answered. Gaius' voice was closer, and Merlin could feel a cool cloth resting on his forehead as he became aware of his surroundings. The familiar scent of herbs, dust and old potion ingredients indicated he was in the main room of the physician's chambers, which in turn meant that the warlock had done something to warrant being brought here.

The fact that he couldn't remember how he got there gave him a clue as to what.

An irritated sigh preceded a reluctant statement. "You may inform him that he has tomorrow off, but I expect him the following morning."

"Yes, Sire."

An awkward silence filled the room. The Monarch seemed to fight an inner battle, before slumping slightly and glancing at the assumedly unconscious servant. Gaius, who had stood impassively with an unimpressed facial expression, softened slightly.

"He'll be fine Arthur, although I would recommend going slightly easier on his duties. An exhausted servant is more prone to injury," the fatherly, if slightly clinical tone held a strange undercurrent of sympathy and gentle reprimand.

"I… I'll consider it, thank you, Gaius," Arthur said, recomposing himself before exiting through the doorway. Merlin heard nothing but the receding footsteps of his employer for several seconds before his warden shuffled closer.

Merlin pretended to be asleep.

"I know you're awake Merlin, do feel free to move to your own bed. It's late and believe it or not, I'd like to sleep in my own bed tonight," an exasperated tone and a tapping foot signalled his failure in his endeavour to keep his consciousness unnoticed.

The warlock groaned as he sat up, resting on his hands for a moment before slowly opening his eyes. A few blinks later revealed the dim, cluttered workspace that he called home. Stretching, he looked around further, finding nothing out of place.

"Hey, uh, Gaius... why was I unconscious?" The slightly confused young man asked, scratching the back of his head. The aged man raised his eyebrows in classic Gaius fashion, instilling a sense that the receiver had done something either exceedingly unimpressive or monumentally stupid. Or occasionally both.

"It seems you, along with Arthur and the knights, fell prey to a spell which knocked you all unconscious. What happened after, nobody seems to know, which is odd considering the sorcerer has miraculously disappeared and left no trace besides a few sleepy guard and a hoard of frightened nobles." Gaius sighed, "I'm afraid only you know what happened."

The warlock stilled, deep in thought. A flash of amusement lit up his eyes, the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. He chuckled.

"I certainly gave him a scare, that's for sure," Merlin grinned. "Maybe, this time, he'll spread the word! Might even dissuade some of the power-hungry lunatics!"

He stood up, the spark of excitement and hope coursing through his limbs giving him a lightness to his movements which belied the exhaustion he felt.

"Well, I'd better get to bed, just in case we get attacked in the middle of the night again," he said. Stumbling slightly, Merlin made his way through the mini-maze of clutter. The warlock stopped at his door, gripping the handle lightly. "Thank you, Gaius."

"Whatever for?" Gaius gave him a look.

"For convincing Arthur to give me a day off," Merlin said, as though it were obvious.

"Ah, yes… well, the leech tank does need cleaning you know," Gaius smirked at Merlin's groan.

"Good night, Gaius," the door closed softly behind him. A moment later a yelp was heard, along with a slightly muffled _thud_. The sound of a pile of armour hitting the floor came next, with a resounding _crash_.

The old physician sighed resignedly, before shaking his head and smiling fondly. Shuffling over to a stack of books, he grasped one from the middle and manoeuvred out, flipping it open to a page which contained a sleeping draught.

Gaius began to compile a list of ingredients.

* * *

Thank you for finishing the latest instalment in DraconicLight's attempt to write more often! Want more of my writing sooner? Want one of your head cannons realised that isn't too graphic or romance-filled? Ask me! I need ideas. Seriously, my imagination currently is less productive than a sleeping Merlin.

Yeesh, you're still here? I know, I know, the ending was weird and Arthur got strangely emotional. But! Why don't you tell me that? Leave me a nice, constructive, review (flames do not a good criticism make!) in the medium-sized box below! Heck, I'll even take a PM if you just want to chat. What? Have I to make the obligatory 'I don't bite' statement? Hah! As if, skin tastes disgusting anyways.

Do people even read these anyway? Well, tell you what amazing reader, if you can guess where I got the first chapter title from (as in reference) I'll do something nice for you!

Have a lovely day/evening/middle of the night (go to sleep!)


	3. A Fed Up Merlin (Is a Productive One)

Well, it's been almost a year. Whoops. I did say my updates were going to be sporadic, but I don't actually intend to leave it this long again... Forgive me? Aaaanyways, here's a sort-of continuation of the last one (officially, it isn't; realistically, it totally is). I'll just let you readers enjoy this slightly less action-heavy post before I start rambling again.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, I do not claim to own Merlin, I do not intend to own Merlin. Surprised? I hope not.

* * *

The dim candlelight illuminated a young man with dark hair and prominent cheekbones writing furiously on a sheet of parchment, dipping the nib of the quill in ink every so often. He muttered under his breath as he wrote, pausing to check a list sitting off to his left before continuing his scribbling. As he set yet another finished piece aside, the table wobbled, sending a precariously balanced stack of books over the edge. Panicked, the young man dove for the tomes in the hopes of avoiding the undoubtedly loud sound of multiple heavy objects striking the floor.

Fortunately, his ever-helpful ability to perform the impossible kicked in with a flash of brilliant gold, leaving three perfectly still volumes of _The Encyclopaedia of Medicinal Herbes and Plantes_ and two of _The Arte of Brewing_.

Unfortunately, one flailing arm managed to knock the bottle of ink sideways, just barely missing the 'finished' pile and letting the dark liquid splash onto the warlock. The glass jar _clinked_ as it hit the wooden surface.

"Oh, for the love of…" The ink dripping onto the floor, a nearly silent _tap-tap_ every few seconds, was heard over an irritated sigh.

The sound of shuffling steps came from just outside the old, cracked door.

"My dear boy, what _are_ you doing?" A weary voice came, exasperated but not at all surprised. The wizened man opened the door to Merlin's room, revealing a tired face who had obviously been asleep moments ago. The one in question winced.

"Sorry Gaius, I was trying to be quiet," he smiled apologetically, contrite. His mentor sighed and raised an eyebrow, but his eyes were tender.

"It's alright Merlin, but you really should be getting to bed. Arthur won't be happy if you're late again," Gaius admonished, inwardly amused when Merlin just grinned.

"Maybe not on the outside, but we both know he's secretly grateful for the extra sleep these days," the manservant said lightly. "And you would be as well Gaius, go back to bed, I promise I'll be done soon."

The Court Physician narrowed his eyes.

"Done _what_ exactly?"

Merlin gestured to the stack of letters, grateful he was blocking most of the inky mess from his mentor's sight.

"I'm writing letters for the druid camps and unaffiliated sorcerers living in and across Camelot's border. I'll deliver through magical means, of course, I'm not going to risk trying to send them by courier or merchant. Besides, it'd take _ages_ for them to get anywhere," Merlin frowned, "I'd bring all of them in person if I could but I haven't quite mastered the teleportation spell yet so I won't have time for each one."

"When on earth did you learn how to teleport?" Gaius' eyebrow rose.

"I've heard it enough times, I managed to piece it together pretty easily. The hard part was figuring out how to control where I end up, apparently, you have to have been there before otherwise, you'll end up who-knows-where," the warlock grimaced, recalling his first few disastrous attempts.

"And you've been practising a dangerous spell, in Camelot, without telling me? Merlin!"

"I had to learn sometime Gaius! It's incredibly useful, and it's not that hard once you get the hang of it!"

"That's not what I meant and you know it!"

Merlin smiled innocently, faltering in the face of Gaius' eyebrow, which had nearly disappeared into his receding hairline.

"I'm careful, and I usually practice while I'm out picking herbs so I'm well away from the city. Honestly, Gaius, everything's fine! You have nothing to worry about," Merlin spread his hands appealingly and attempted a reassuring expression. Gaius let out a heavy breath.

"My dear boy I always have something to worry about when it comes to you, just please, do be careful," the mentor said tiredly, though there was a hint of fondness in the tone. A forgotten thought came back. "What are you writing to the druids for anyway?"

"Oh, well, you remember that one sorcerer?" Blank stare. "No, no I suppose you wouldn't. The one who smashed his nose open and put all the knights to sleep. Ernie, I think… well, I'm hoping that maybe if everyone knew what Arthur was, they might stop attacking Camelot. I mean, at the very least it might stop some of the weaker ones. Fewer deluded people taking up my spare time the better, I suppose!" The warlock said with a hint of desperation; the aged man could see signs of prolonged fatigue and could tell Merlin was getting pushed just a little bit too close to the edge.

"Do what you have to do Merlin, just try not to get yourself killed," Gaius gave the boy a pointed look.

"Thank you, Gaius, I won't, good night."

"Good night, Merlin."

The door closed softly, Merlin waited until everything was silent before glancing down at his ink-stained person and the overturned bottle. A bit of magic had little dark droplets speeding back into the bottle, leaving no trace of the spill.

"Four more," he whispered, getting back to work.

* * *

The setting sun cast a soft but brilliant glow over the forest surrounding Camelot, illuminating the trees with golden light that painted a dazzling picture of the landscape; a sight which Merlin longed to enjoy if only he'd had the time.

Not that he did, of course. Merlin strolled to the edge of the forest, glancing back furtively at the city gates. One of the guardsmen was asleep.

Merlin snorted, readjusting the satchel in which he stored collected herbs. Well, _would_ store collected herbs, except that it was already occupied by near three dozen painstakingly-written letters addressed to various magic-users in and around Camelot.

Which he would now spend the entirety of the night delivering in the hopes of ensuring that the onslaught of displeased and misguided sorcerers might subside a bit. Hopefully.

 _Wonderful._

Merlin walked into the darkening woods, navigating the familiar terrain with a caution born from years of experience with bandits and slave traders and scarier things that make errant wanderers disappear without a trace. He didn't go too far, just enough to make sure there weren't about to be any witnesses to his slightly less than legal activities. The spell was incanted with brows furrowed, eyes shut and a general idea of the destination.

Then the warlock disappeared with barely a whisper of a breeze and a slight pop of rushing air, leaving no indication he had ever been there.

* * *

Suddenly appearing several metres in the air and over a cold stream is apparently very, _very_ , conducive to panicked druid women launching terrifying spells at one's person.

Fortunately, the only thing they'd been washing had been their laundry, a fact which Merlin was eternally grateful for. Nevertheless, when an unknown man teleports through some of the strongest wards in existence, there is usually cause to worry.

"Ah! Ow! Nononono, ow! Wait!" A reflexive shield of blue light shimmered and materialised, blocking the next volley of magic. The warlock cowered; soggy, slightly startled from the rapid transport and unwilling to blindly lash out. As his eyes refocused and his orientation returned Merlin managed to stand up straight just as numerous robed figures slid down the slope, stopping at the shore. They took threatening stances and while Merlin knew the druids were a peaceful people, he also knew that they wouldn't object to rendering him unconscious, wiping his memory and dropping him off at the walls of the nearest city.

"Hold on! I'm not here to hurt you!" He held his hands up with the backs of his hands facing the druids and adopted a non-threatening look. The shield came down. "My name is Merlin, although some of you, especially your leader Iseldir, may know me as Emrys and I'm here to see-"

The moment of hushed awe and disbelief tinged with suspicion that came with the name ended rapidly, drowning out the rest of his words with dozens of voices. Suddenly the crowd parted, allowing the druid chieftain to step calmly to the edge of the water. The figure smiled.

"Good evening, Emrys," Iseldir said respectfully, bowing his head. Merlin grimaced at the deference but nodded in acknowledgement.

"Hello Iseldir, I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time," Iseldir's kind face displayed serene curiosity as he nodded and waited for Merlin to drag himself out of the water. As Merlin reached the edge, his eyes lit up and his clothes steamed slightly and dried. The assembled druids tittered at the silent use of magic, some of the younger one's eyes widened in shock and awe. The warlock shifted awkwardly and hurried his pace slightly.

"We shall speak somewhere more private," the druid leader murmured and set off into the camp, Merlin ambling along after him. The two drew many stares as they passed, though not unkind ones and whispers began to break out. The obvious attention unnerved the younger of the two, accustomed to blending in as a servant. A faint blush appeared on pale skin.

"Peace, Emrys. Your discomfort is not their intention, nonetheless many consider it a great honour to be in your presence," Iseldir spoke up, a faint twitch of his lips belying his mirth at the muted glare shot his way.

"Still makes me uncomfortable," came the muttered reply, preceding an even fainter "and my name's Merlin."

Iseldir gave no acknowledgement to the weak protest, drawing back the pelt hanging in the doorway to a tent. Merlin figured it was the druid leaders, the lack of distinction from the others was of little consequence for the druid people who rarely acknowledged such things anyway.

They ducked through the entrance, allowing the pelt to fall back into place and plunging them into darkness. Merlin started slightly as he felt a wisp of magic brush by his cheek, and drew in a short breath at the warmth.

Then, a flicker of light within Iseldir's iris cued seven lights softly appearing, suspended perfectly in place equidistant from the centre. One of them pulsed a mellow orange beside the young warlock's face, who simply stared and reached up to softly brush his fingertips through the nebulous cloud.

"It has heat," his eyebrows furrowed, "why does it emit heat?" Merlin's head tilted in confusion, remembering the brief explanation his magic book had provided on magical illumination. One which was clearly incorrect if what he was witnessing was any indication.

"This version requires a fair bit more power than most in order to keep them perfectly still, which means they are constantly draining and utilising my internal magic instead of the ambient magic in the air," Iseldir explained, smiling at the curiosity in the young man's eyes, which at the moment showed understanding.

"That makes sense, why do you need them still?" Merlin drew back from the light, turning to inspect the simplistic but cosy living space. Earthy greens, oranges, and browns were predominant in terms of colouring, and while there was little for furniture, many furs and small storage compartments lined the tent. In the centre lay a thick, furry mat of some sort, while a small raised space was set aside for writing. Runes lined the sides of the thick fabric walls, some Merlin recognised, but others were unfamiliar. _Protection_ , _Warning_ , and _Silence_ were among them.

"I suppose I do not, but I find the constant use of magic strengthens it, and while I no longer use it in ways that I once did, many of my more ceremonial duties require precise control," Iseldir sat down with his legs crossed and an open expression, "now let us speak, Emrys."

The warlock followed suit, his gaze still focused on the suspended light, and fidgeted slightly, though not necessarily due to outright discomfort.

"I may need some help, a favour really, I guess…" Merlin looked to Iseldir at that, "I need to know the locations of the magic users living within Camelot, as well as the other druid camps."

Iseldir raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Not that we do not trust you Emrys, but might I inquire to the reasoning behind your request?" the Druid Leader gazed at him, studying. Merlin let out a breath and his fatigue became even more pronounced in the dim lighting,

"I want it to stop. The assassination attempts, the destruction, all the vengeful magic-users making messes and giving the rest of us a bad name," the warlock's eyes were narrowed, frustration apparent in his posture. "It's becoming ridiculous, no, it _is_ ridiculous, how many I have to stop each week. I can't imagine how Arthur survived before I came because there hasn't been a week that I haven't caught an assassin of some sort sneaking into Camelot, and there've been a few in his bedchambers!"

His hands were clenched now, knuckles white with tension. The druid leader sat calmly, waiting for the youth to relieve his frustrations.

"I am so sick and _bloody tired_ of the sheer ignorance of these people! I get that not everyone can sense magic like I can but why anybody else can't see what I do in Arthur is just annoying!"

Iseldir's eyebrows rose at the statement, he jolted in surprise. Merlin noticed and fell silent at the uncharacteristic act of the usually unperturbed man, who peered at the young warlock for a few moments.

"Emrys, I believe the reason that the Once and Future King may be targeted so often is because you are one of the few currently capable of glimpsing his destiny," Iseldir spoke slowly, but assuredly, "actually, there are very few who are aware of your identity beyond those who have met you in person. Your magical signature is extremely remarkable and unique, even the weakest hedgewizard or hedgewitch would feel something of note. A druid such as myself will trust your judgement as we trust in the prophecies, but the average sorcerer knows very little and is even less willing to believe in the son of Uther Pendragon.

"There are, however, creatures possessing a very profound and prominent connection to the Old Religion, and by extension, magic itself," Merlin frowned here, but set his questions to the side, "you have already met the Great Dragon, correct? He is one such creature and displays that in his knowledge and innate understanding of the will of the Old Religion, as well as his sense of Balance."

"Balance, what does that have to do with anything?" Merlin, couldn't help but feel confused as to why the cryptic lizard's ability to stay upright would have anything to do with the present discussion. Iseldir chuckled.

"All things existing in the natural world but remain in equilibrium for proper order to be maintained. Should this balance be upset, the Old Religion will attempt to compensate for it. The Slaughter, or Purge, was one of these upsets. Your birth was a direct result of the deaths caused, an attempt to right the balance if it will, though your coming has been foretold for many a generation. Your use of the Mirror of Life and Death also reflects this, a life for a life for the balance to be maintained.

"It is mainly magical creatures that have this capability, though there are a few such as yourself who are adept at sensing this phenomenon, such as Anhora the Keeper of the Unicorns and to a very slight extent, Nimueh the former High Priestess."

At this, Iseldir paused.

"It is your connection to the Old Religion, Emrys, which allows you see what Arthur shall become, and why those of you who have met you have such great faith in your word. You are utterly unique in the sense that you are the embodiment of Magic itself, a champion of the Old Religion. You, along with Arthur, will be the one to restore peace and balance to Albion."

Merlin had nothing to say to Iseldir's declarations; his thoughts were spinning in all directions, trying to make some sense of what he had heard. With a dry mouth, he voiced the only question he could think of.

"Why me?"

Iseldir fixed him with a piercing stare.

"It is a rare, that with the power you possess, one would choose to defend not conquer. That is all I have for that matter, Emrys, it would be wise to consult those belonging to your heart for the answer to that question.

"Now, I believe I may have a suggestion to resolve your plight."

* * *

The moon was just starting its descent when a tall figure appeared under the shadow of the forest just outside of Camelot. The breeze ruffled and whispered at his arrival, before settling once more.

The young warlock was grinning as he willed his footsteps silent and wandering gazes away from his presence. If he skipped a little bit, well, there was nobody around to tease him for it anyway.

He had a plan.

* * *

No, I don't really know what I'm doing, but I think I might know where I'm going. Do any of you guys ever get the feeling you don't have enough room or time to tell everything you want to tell? I just got a feeling of _incomplete_ from this one. Fortunately, there will be another unofficial follow-up so you guys won't be so confused. Maybe I should just get on that actual full-length fic I've been wanting to write for a while. Maybe I'll do a crossover, who knows? Suggestions are welcome.

Constructive criticism appreciated, flames not, if you've been on this site for any length of time you know the drill. Tell me if I've done something wrong, or if I'm doing something right, I'll respond to reviews in a PM (behind already on that, but you'll get a reply eventually).

Have a great day/night (I know there are at least a few of you prowling the abysses of fanfiction at four AM on a school night...)!


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